At some point he bowed to the inevitable. Looking at his watch, he got out of bed and headed for the bathroom.
He was in the courtroom right on time, making himself known to the prosecutor, who was not particularly glad to see him or their prisoner. He had Jackson and Benson with him, no more.
The rest were under orders to stay put. The prosecutor was not happy.
“I can’t handle this. It’s not in my brief. The whole thing is highly irregular.”
“Will I be able to speak to the judge?”
The lady, Maxine Black-Porter, studied him intently for a moment.
“I think you can count on it, Lieutenant.”
She left out the Sonny-boy but he caught it clearly enough. His guts were eating away at the insides of him and his palms were sweaty. But what other options did he have? He still hadn’t been able to contact the ship. Guarding a prisoner in the truck, round the clock, for an indefinite time-period was clearly unsuitable, and those considerations included the welfare of the prisoner as much as anything else. Mister Beveridge was better off someplace where they had the facilities to deal with him, and Newton Shapiro was well within his own rights according to the warrant to apprehend, identify, and charge anyone who fit the bill.
The judge entered and they went through the rigmarole where everyone rose and then he sat down and banged his gavel.
The Clerk of the Court stood at the front of the room. Maxine approached the bench, with Justice J.D. Meyer looking appraisingly at her over his low half-glasses. His eyes located Newton and they conferred some more. The judge made a small gesture.
“This court is now in session.” The Clerk took her seat.
They muttered together some more and then those liquid black eyes stabbed at Newton.
“Young man. Would you approach the bench, please.”
“Thank you, your honour.” Picking up his notes and data-pad, heart in his mouth and knees oddly trembling, Newton Shapiro did just that.
***
“Excuse me, your Honour.” They hadn’t even opened up their mouths yet.
A large gentleman in a white suit, replete with black bowstring tie and a panama hat, stood sweating beside Hank Beveridge.
“My client is entitled to representation.”
“So he is, sir.” His Honour looked at Newton Shapiro as the gentleman pulled something out of his bulging briefcase and shuffled forward. “May I have the pleasure of introducing Mister Jared Powell, duty counselor.”
Shapiro’s mouth opened and he slumped in the shoulders.
“Honoured.” His face held a wry look.
“Hello, Lieutenant.” Powell’s eyes gleamed at him.
“Now, where were we?” His Honour looked at Newton with kindly eyes, but wasn’t fooling anybody. “You, young man. State your case.”
There would be no shenanigans in this courtroom.
“Mister Beveridge may be a deserter. I am holding him in custody in order to properly identify him. If he comes up negative, or if results are inconclusive, then he will be released.”
“But you’re not holding him in custody. The police are.” Powell’s voice was smooth, silky and very confident.
“For a very good reason. We don’t have proper facilities and the prisoner’s health and welfare are a concern.”
“And so you place a man under arrest, transport him hundreds of kilometres across country, while keeping him chained to a seat in your pickup truck.” Powell looked back at Hank and mouthed something silently.
Hair stood up on the back of Newton’s neck and his face reddened.
“Such is the nature of a pioneering world. Mister Beveridge was arrested on a legal warrant.” Newton looked at the prosecutor, but her face was down and she appeared to be listening intently.
Other than that, she was of no help.
Powell glanced at the data-device he held in his hand.
“Facial recognition, ninety-five percent probability.” He looked at his Honour. “The gentleman’s data is already inconclusive. Now he proposes to transport a citizen of Third World off-planet and try another fishing expedition. I love it when someone shoots down his own case for me.”
Newton ground his teeth.
His Honour grinned slightly.
“Release the suspect into my custody and we’ll hold him on our own.”
“I’m sorry, young man, but I’m not convinced you have the right.” The judge’s eyes went all far-off and strange.
Meyer chewed his bottom lip and his head tilted. They waited patiently. Then he sat up and impaled Newton with his eyes.
“Sorry.”
Powell practically crowed.
“I’m sorry, I won’t hear the case, because in my opinion you do not have sufficient grounds to hold this man, let alone arrest him.”
The prosecutor grabbed his arm, and further protest died on his lips as he stared into the eyes of his Honour.
“Thank you, your Honour.” Powell practically purred.
“Remove the restraints from the prisoner.” The clerk of the court was carefully neutral in tone, but the voice carried well enough.
Powell strolled back to confer in hushed voices with Beveridge. The two men shook hands and stood talking.
Powell was watching Shapiro.
The swell of talk filled the courtroom, where by his estimate at least a dozen recognizable Cedar River residents had swelled a crowd that was probably a bit larger than usual to begin with.
Newton stumbled back to the prosecutor’s desk where they conferred briefly.
“What the hell else can I do?”
“Lay a formal charge, but that has to be done in a military court if the suspect is subject to military justice—but that only applies if you can properly identify him.” Maxine wasn’t particularly sympathetic.
Desertion wasn’t a crime on Third World, but then there was nothing to desert from.
A prison world might even be more hospitable in some ways, there would be a certain infrastructure. A prison world would have a fingerprint reader…
She shuffled papers, getting ready for her first case of the day. Shapiro noted a dozen briefs lined up on her desk, with bits of paper held onto the outside with paper clips and post-it notes with jottings stuck on the top one.
“Well. Thank you.”
She stuck out her hand.
“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Lieutenant Shapiro.” She smiled with sincere charm.
Powell was right there at his shoulder, and in spite of his best efforts, Newton found himself unable to hate the man. He hated the universe, he hated the mission and the service itself right about then. He didn’t really hate Beveridge. Quite the reverse was true—he actually kind of liked Hank and even had a sneaking bit of admiration for him.
He might have been shot trying to escape after all.
Powell shoved papers into his hand.
“What’s this?”
Powell smirked and slapped him on the shoulder.
“Damage suit.” Powell looked him up and down in quick assessment. “We’re asking for a hundred thousand Imperial dollars in compensation for false arrest, abduction, mental anguish, oh, you know—all that sort of thing.”
“Oh, for the love of God.”
“We’re prepared to settle out of court, if you would care to discuss this outside.”
The eyes of Hank Beveridge and what seemed like half the planet were upon him.
“Holy.” His stomach felt very hollow.
In the end, they stood in the bright light of day. Newton peeled two thousand dollars in fifties and hundreds off of his much-depleted roll of petty cash. The lawyer pocketed two hundred and fifty and handed the rest over to Hank Beveridge. In exchange, Newton Shapiro got two copies of a quit-claim signed by Mister Beveridge, two witnesses, and himself.
His own troops looked on in astonishment as Beveridge and his supporters departed he courtroom steps and sidewalk, and headed straight for the bar up the street.
The sight of Beveridge and the girl Polly, arm in arm and obviously very much in love, was little consolation for Newton Shapiro.
It wasn’t that he wished ill on anyone. The problem was that he had a mission to perform, and had acted according to the dictates of his own conscience.
The law was the law, and discipline must be maintained in the Fleet.
It didn’t take a fool to see that, but he did. He did.
***
“Lieutenant! Lieutenant!” Hernandez was yelling at him from the right side window of Unit Two.
She waved at him frantically, even as the glass panel lowered. A jolt went through him from the strident urgency of her tone.
Breaking into a run when he saw her hold up the microphone, he nipped around the front of the vehicle and up the ladder.
“Yes?”
“Urgent message from Hermes.” She handed Newton the microphone.
“Lieutenant Shapiro reporting.”
“Hi, Lieutenant. This is Hermes.”
Shapiro recognized the voice of helmsman-in-training Dan Volmar.
“Commander requests rendezvous in LEO point A, three hours or less. We have a quick turnaround and then we’re departing.” Volmar’s face was now up on Screen Three on the dashboard. “What are the results of your mission?”
“Inconclusive.” He blurted it out without a second’s thought.
Shapiro’s mind raced. Where the hell were they? Where did they go? What did they do? But he had no time for questions, and the same went for them.
“Everything okay?”
“Absolutely. No problem.” He waited.
“Acknowledged.” Volmar’s signal cut.
He handed the com unit handset back to Hernandez.
“All right, people.” Newton held the command frequency. “Everybody back on board. We are getting out of this burg. I repeat, mount up.”
He looked at Jackson, seated in the far corner with his arms up along the backs of the seats.
“We’ll leave the vehicles at the spaceport and make a quick call to the company.”
Jackson nodded.
“So they were out of orbit.”
Newton shook his head indecisively.
“They didn’t really say, did they?”
“And a quick turnaround.”
“Yes.”
Jackson nodded. Much was implied, nothing was known. Situation normal, all fucked up.
“Hernandez.” Jackson’s voice was flat and commanding.
She turned and looked inquiringly at Jackson.
“Hand over the local phone-set.” He thought for a minute and then looked cheerfully at Lieutenant Shapiro. “I’ll call the leasing company and let them know. They can either meet us, or we can leave the keys under the mat.”
Shapiro grinned. He looked down at himself, all plastered in dried mud and food and sticky stains, with bits of leaves in the joints and all those mysterious smudges that seemingly couldn’t be removed from the visors. The boys and girls down in the Hermes’ armory were going to just love him, and them.
His body was tacky, his mouth tasted bad, and it was like a hot shower was the most important thing in the world. To sit on a proper toilet would be heavenly.
“As of this point, Mister Jackson, I no longer give a damn.”
Jackson smiled inscrutably and punched in the numbers as the vehicle rocked and then subsided from the last one slamming the rear gate.
There was a twitch and a roar, with blue smoke emanating from Unit One’s twin exhaust stacks as Roy fired up the motor.
The radio sputtered and he waved for silence.
“Trooper Oscar is ready to be released as long as he is transferred into immediate medical care.” Ensign Spaulding in Unit One, visible on Screen Two, pointed at her map display. “That’s the hospital. I’ll go pick up Oscar and you guys warm up the shuttle?”
“Roger that.”
Newton dropped into a seat and strapped in.
“All right, youngster. Take me to the airport—and step on it.”
He looked at Jackson and the troops lined up along the rear wall.
“I’ve always wanted to say that.”
Hatcher was kind enough to give him a cute little golf clap, quickly taken up by the others and he rewarded them with a quick grin and his best impression of a man who needed sleep very, very badly.
Chapter Twenty-Three
It All Seems Very Comprehensive
“Well, Lieutenant Shapiro. I’ve read your report, and it seems all very comprehensive.”
It was fifty pages of polite nonsense, but Shapiro didn’t contradict the man.
“Yes, sir.” He paused. “Thank you, sir.”
Commander Burke’s eyes met his and he grinned slightly. He cleared his throat almost inaudibly.
“As you are aware, Hermes and Artemis, in conjunction with Indomitable and the fleet tender Aphrodite, were engaged in deep-space exercises while you were away.” It all came up rather suddenly, but then there had been an increased level of secrecy about all Fleet doings lately.
The two frigates and a light cruiser had engaged in high-speed combat maneuvers, in-flight refueling, replenishment, staff transfers and live-firing exercises. Newton had been briefed on the outcomes, and was sorry he’d missed out. It was rotten luck, as all agreed.
The people in his department had done well to keep up with events and that at least reflected well upon him.
“Hermes’ performance was satisfactory. Your work in internal logistics, parts and stores, has been exemplary.” Commander Burke glanced at some hand-written notes, very thin and sparse on the page, mostly one or two words per line.
Newton didn’t dare try and read what was there. He was almost afraid of knowing what Burke thought of him.
“When something breaks or goes wrong, you have just the part. Your department has provided everything from shoes and socks to washers for the bathroom taps. We always seem to have all the tools and supplies for needed repairs.” The commander eased back in his seat. “People say you are good to work with. Always cheerful, well-balanced, good with your people. Your people are well-trained.”
“Thank you, sir.” Where in the hell was this going?
He was getting a bad feeling, and he had learned to trust his instincts.
“One thing about your report. Why did you put him in police custody? Surely you must have foreseen potential problems…?”
Newton pursed his lips.
“Ah. Under the circumstances, with only a ninety-five percent chance…the prisoner’s health and welfare were my highest priority.”
Burke nodded, looking at his papers and analyzing tone more than anything. He looked up with a smile, which quickly faded to sober calculation. Newton had the feeling the Commander could read his mind, and it wasn’t good.
“I have an unofficial query from higher up.”
“Sir?”
“The armed tug Myrmidon is in the neighbourhood. Her commander is near retirement age, and perhaps more importantly, he is not well.” Burke went on to explain.
Apparently Captain Hedges was an old salt and would be taking a good hard look at the man taking his ship from him…
Shapiro would be acting-Commander, with full pay but provisional rank and seniority, until regular Fleet promotions came up. A yearly list was published and if he did well his name would be on it.
Shapiro firmly kept his jaw from dropping any further.
“Would you like a crack at her?”
Newton could have sworn there was the hint of tears, a suspicious watering of Burke’s eyes.
“Yes, sir.” Newton was surprised by how it came out in a kind of croak, but it was all right.
Burke grinned.
“All righty then.” He glanced at the notes.
“Who do you recommend as your replacement?”
“Spaulding if she wants the work.” It might not be her cup of tea.
Burke nodded.
“What did you think of Cornel
l?”
“He’s a good kid.”
“Hatcher?”
“Give him any job with a big instruction manual, and some technical system involved, and I reckon he’ll be happy.”
The commander asked about each and every damned one of them on the mission. He only left out one—Jackson.
Newton’s impression would go towards building files on each of them. They were all pretty good people, although in his opinion one or two probably wouldn’t re-enlist when their hitch was up, and that was only to be expected. In the long run, it was best for the individual as well as the service.
Finally Burke ran out of questions. Newton knew by now that he had actually read the report, every stinking word of it. That impressed him.
“All right, Lieutenant. You are dismissed. And congratulations, by the way.”
Newton rose to go. The commander came around the desk and shook his hand without saying a word. They shook hands. The Commander stepped in, arms wide, and gave him a manly hug. Then he stepped back and saluted him. Newton saluted him just as formally and then stumbled in a state of brain-fog from the room.
Closing the door quietly, he was a bit startled to see Jackson just down the hall and coming this way.
“Congratulations, Newton.”
“Thank you—Mister Jackson.” His eyebrows rose.
Jackson eyed him with a crooked smile.
So Jackson was observing him the whole time! No wonder he seemed so self-possessed, with the sort of gravitas that none of the rest could even dream of. It was a façade. His official title and the more obvious duties as Personnel Officer weren’t the half of it.
“You son of a bitch.”
Jackson snickered.
“Actually, I think the proper term is horn-swoggler.”
He stuck his hand out and they shook, eyes meeting in silent regard.
“You’ll get used to it. Anyway, you did very well.”
With one last look at a dazed Lieutenant Newton Shapiro, he gave a quick and curious little knock.
Third World Page 20
